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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25983217">I've Had All That I Wanted of a Lot of Things I've Had, and a Lot More Than I Needed of Somethings That Turned Out Bad</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiteralCaskOfAmontillado/pseuds/LiteralCaskOfAmontillado'>LiteralCaskOfAmontillado</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Foggy Dew [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Days of Our Lives but like... they're immortals and Irish, Immortals, Multi, These god damn immortals man</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:41:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,376</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25983217</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiteralCaskOfAmontillado/pseuds/LiteralCaskOfAmontillado</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>There's somebody set to grab me, anywhere that I might be, and wherever you might look tonight you might get a glimpse of me</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fresh out of prison at Steam Creek Penitentiary for Immortal Offenders, Heracles Silvertongue sets out to right a few of many wrongs. His sister is there, too. He's pretty pissed about that.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Foggy Dew [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735855</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Last Night on Earth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was hard for The Wanted Man to read the postcard, which was smudged with blood on the back corner where Rachel’s dainty writing ended. The guards in Mail Service must have missed it, because it had come jammed inside of his <em>Sporting Rifles Weekly</em> copy. Oddly enough, it wasn’t crinkled but it was browned with years of exposure, like it had been sitting around in a sun-lit window.</p>
<p>He remembered this same postcard from many years before, when it was framed on Rachel’s bedside table. But the Wanted Man hadn’t seen this particular Georgian church in more than four decades, and he blearily recognised Rachel’s cursive.</p>
<p>	<em>Heracles,<br/>
You promised to take me here, remember? I don’t know where you are besides “in prison” but I miss you. I went to Ireland to see if I could find you, because despite all the time passing I just wanted to know if maybe I’d just been replaced, and Sierra’s prison story was a lie. I know that’s where you grew up, down in Glenbeigh on your grandfather’s estate. Home is where the heart is, right? You weren’t there though. I checked the whole island from top to bottom, just in case. I have so much I need- I want- to tell you.<br/>

I hope this picture finds its way to you. If I’m still alive when you return, please take me here like you promised me. It was beautiful in person, but it would have been better if you’d been there to tell me all about it.<br/>

I love you my Wanted Man,<br/>

R. Marquetta</em></p>
<p>
  <em>P.S. Your sister is so nice. I think she really liked me.</em>
</p>
<p>His magic may have been turned off by his special prison garbs, but the Wanted Man’s curse was not. As the postcard drifted to the floor, his fists met the concrete wall in front of him, the intricate ancient sigils carved microscopically into the surface glowing an alert red as he struck them with powerful jabs. Like the trapped animal he was, the Wanted Man screamed out of rage and fear, hot tears pooling at the corners of his eyes and dribbling down his face. </p>
<p>Following the noises from the Wanted Man’s cell, a riotous cacophony echoed throughout the cellblock. Prisoners yowled like a clan of hyenas from behind their bars and guards scurried like cockroaches down the walkways. It was going to be a long night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. All Along the Watchtower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <em>Outside in the cold distance, a wildcat did growl. Two riders were approaching, and the wind began to howl</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  Heracles takes watch over Mjer's party, but only sort of. He's mostly thinking about the past.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A breeze blew over the parapet of the castle walls, bristiling through his tangles of dark blonde hair and reminding the Wanted Man of different times. His curse was goading and grilling him tonight, tempting him to open fire at the party below him. He resisted those thoughts by thinking of a past that just made him sad. It would be very bad for his paycheck, afterall.<br/>
With a bit of surprise, and a tug away from his much too troubling thoughts, the Wanted Man listened to a far off growl that echoed up from below him. It may have just been some sort of wildcat, growling to protect its territory. Maybe, or maybe not, but he was quite high off the ground for it to bother him either way. He was covered head to toe in his liquid Kevlar suit, and armoured clothing, and he did have a frighteningly large gun in his lap. It’s not as if anybody had approached the party all evening, so his perch above the princes and ladies was almost pointless.</p>
<p>For some reason, the sound reminded him of something. He’d always wanted to be like his older sister, Heresy. Which was odd to some, because he also had two older brothers that were equally, if not more, likely to be good aspirations for a baby brother. They were both tall and handsome, as well as detectives and exceptional mages. They even drove a really cool car, which any sibling- brother, or sister- would have begged to play inside of. Even still, the Wanted Man had always wanted to be like his older sister.</p>
<p>	He didn’t want her long, dark, and curling hair, or her fair, pockless skin. He didn’t even want the incredible strength granted to her by ancient magic, or her thunderous American motorcycle, either. The Wanted Man wanted to be kind and caring like her instead. His curse made that difficult, but it didn’t stop him from at least trying to emulate Heresy Silvertongue’s saint-like qualities. When she would have been kind, he’d been callous and crude. When she would have been caring, he’d been unsympathetic and cruel. </p>
<p>	As he sat along the top of the watchtower, the Wanted Man recalled from his primary school days, in the years when his mother and father were missing, a revealing moment Heresy had shared with him after he had brutalised a classmate. The offender had called the Wanted Man- then a very Loathed Boy- a “bastard child between his father and sister”, which was silly, because he didn’t look very much like his sister at all. Not then, and not now. </p>
<p>	He remembered sitting with her in their garage, handing her tools as she worked on her motorcycle, watching her little brother each time they exchanged tools. She’d always been so good at caring for him.</p>
<p>	“It’s not true, y’know,” Heresy had started, looking up at him as she was tightening a bolt, “you look too much like mum and da put together”</p>
<p>	Heresy hadn’t even needed to remind him what she was talking about- he knew. She seemed to be purposely forgetting that she was just a taller, long haired copy of their mother to most people.</p>
<p>	“I know,” the Wanted Man replied quietly, years before he had ever been wanted by anyone aside from his family, “I just needed to make sure he knew that he was wrong”</p>
<p>	The Wanted Man sadly recalled that he had been preoccupied by tear drops intermingling with oil drops on the floor to hear Heresy drop her tool. So much so that it had taken him a few moments to notice that Heresy was crouching in front of him, and not standing over her motorcycle.</p>
<p>	“Heracles, that’s not your job,” she sighed, wiping a tear from his jaw. When more tears fell, his curse bubbling up inside him, she had hugged him so tightly. Nobody ever hugged him like that as an adult. Not even Rachel. </p>
<p>	He’d always wanted to be like his older sister. The Wanted Man wanted to stand against aggressors like Heresy had- not with them. Said aggressors had tasked the Wanted Man with multitudes of heinous acts over the years. Several of them had put him directly in the crosshairs of his sister during her years as an Agency sorcerer and detective. Any of their meetings after were tense, disappointing, and unfortunately sad. From his secluded seat along the watchtower, he was afforded more time to think of another memory, one which made him sink his teeth deep into the soft skin of his lips. </p>
<p>	Heresy was shouting at him, kinetic magic allowing her to lob massive objects at the Wanted Man. He remembered ducking as a solid oak bench sailed through the air at him, splintering on the marble floor behind his feet. Even though he was roughly the same height and build as her, when he tumbled backwards over the debris, she was able to heft him into a wall by his throat.</p>
<p>	“You slimy rat!” Heresy growled, ripping the liquid Kevlar off of his face, holding him by the throat. Their eyes met, and the Wanted Man could still distinctly feel her fingers digging into his jugular.</p>
<p>	“You killed an innocent woman!” she screamed in his face, pulling him off the wall just slightly.</p>
<p>	He remembered his stinging tears again, remembered that his curse had screamed at him to punish Heresy for putting her hands on him. Yet he could never raise a hand to her, not then, and not now. Even if his own bone breaking and sigil magic would have been an equal match for her own magic, he simply wouldn’t have been able to do it.</p>
<p>	“How could you do this?” Heresy howled, slamming the Wanted Man’s head against the wall where he was pinned. As he was blacking out, he’d seen her tears too. He’d always wanted to be like his older sister, but maybe he already was.</p>
<p>	“You killed my best friend,” she sobbed through tears, crying through the pain of hearing the last thing Heresy said to him before he was down for the count. </p>
<p>	The memory left the Wanted Man hugging himself, ragged nails digging crescents in his arms, through the armoured clothing and liquid Kevlar. His head was between his knees, body bent over his rifle. </p>
<p>Heresy’s face haunted him these days, and a part of that was caused by their last tête-à-tête. No, not the one where a bench had exploded. She hadn’t thrown anything at him then but she had thrown him down an elevator shaft. She’d also kindly spoke of something that reminded him what “I never want to see your face again” meant. </p>
<p>If there was one thing the Wanted Man was sure of was his older sister’s capacity to forgive. In time, she’d be able to stand being in the same room as him. He’d always wanted to be like his older sister, but if forgiveness was something he needed to be good at, the Wanted Man would never even come close. </p>
<p>When his mind had quieted down, he was aware that he sat on a cold, granite bench, gazing all along the watchtower and listening idly to the chatter of business men drinking wine below him. His 7mm Browning Safari was primed and loaded- Heresy preferred shotguns- but it was growing colder by the minute in his lap. He was almost certain he wouldn’t need to use it tonight. Common sense, but unless the perpetrator of the earlier noises suddenly appeared in front of him, the Wanted Man’s hands would remain free of gunshot residue this evening. He had always wanted to be like his older sister, Heresy.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Shadowplay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>In the shadowplay, acting out your own death knowing no more. As the assassins all grouped in four lines dancing on the floor. And with cold steel odour on their bodies made a move to connect. But I could only stare in disbelief as the crowds all left</i>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’d jinxed himself. It was Murphy’s Law, or something like that. The gun that the Wanted Man thought he wouldn’t be using tonight immediately found a place rested on his shoulder, sights opened. The Wanted Man used one hand to activate his liquid kevlar suit, which flowed out like tar from the scar-like sigils carved down his sternum. </p><p>Below him at the party, guests screamed hysterically, the sounds of artillery filling the dance hall. He scanned the crowd through the high powered scope, scowling underneath the protective magic kevlar that would keep him safe from the aforementioned weaponry. Whatever it was didn’t sound like it was intended to cause significant harm, which was proven as he watched an Service soldier fire a round into the air, not even trying to hit any of the wealthy party goers. It was almost like it was a call to attention. Meant for who, he had no idea.</p><p>“I’ll come back for you later,” he mumbled quietly, moving away to continue scanning the venue that was rapidly being abandoned by party goers, and invaded by Service soldiers. He recalled the guest list that tonight’s employer had given him. None of them had any sort of rap sheet, or beef with the Service. A few petty crimes, and a little bit of money laundering, of course. But no one had gotten away with killing their spouse, or committing high treason. They were all too rich to have had any severe consequences levied against them anyways, and truly the only one at the party with any sort of score to settle was none other than the Wanted Man himself. </p><p>They hadn’t noticed up above yet, which was beneficial for the mercenary, who watched a dozen more soldiers and agents file in. None of them looked like the leader, which puzzled him. Who on Earth could have assembled this many Service agents at once?</p><p>	He didn’t have to wonder for very long.</p><p>“I want this entire place locked down. Heracles doesn’t leave unless it’s in my custody, d’you lot understand me?” Heresy Silvertongue’s voice was calm and full of authority as she strode confidently into the main dining hall, sword on her back, pistol in her hands. Her presence sent a deep chill down the Wanted Man’s spine. It was almost as if by cosmic alignment that she was standing just feet away from him after he’d just been thinking about her moments ago.</p><p>Before he could process that thought further, his curse began screaming at him to start firing- at her, or at her troops, he couldn’t discern- but he could feel the anger rising, poised to strike like a rattlesnake getting ready to square off for his turf.</p><p>He checked the rounds in his rifle, then watched the scene below him with a wrathful eye. It seemed all the party goers had fled uninjured as there were no signs of significant bleeding, despite the amount of gunfire he’d been alerted to earlier. Surely, it hadn’t all been warning shots.</p><p>The Wanted Man lined up his own shot, the report of the massive hunting rifle on his shoulder causing silence to fall as the soldier whom he’d caught sight of earlier splattered blood and gray matter onto his sister’s face, matting with her dark, curly hair. She was making a disgusted face as her head jerked towards where his shot had come from, intense look causing him to tremble even from the safety of his perch, and the wrathful goading of his cure.</p><p>“Come out of your nest and talk to me face to face!” Heresy shouted, squaring up in the direction where her little brother hid. She drew her sword- their father’s sword, actually- in her left hand, pistol in her right.</p><p>“<i>Seas in aghaidh</i>,” The Wanted Man hissed in near silence, pressing a flat hand to the cold, stony wall below him, sprinting down it gracefully, giant rifle hardly giving him any grief. Though he was at an extremely odd angle, he managed to rack off another shot, bullet punching into the wall behind his sister- his own warning shot that missed her by quite a distance. He never could have raised a hand to her, not then, and not now.</p><p>“There isn’t any reason for that,” She yelled back, and he swore he may have seen her flinch. Was she as scared as he was? Surely not.</p><p>“Says the one who brought a whole fuckin’ army in here!” the Wanted Man retorted, ripping the liquid kevlar from his mouth, the poison in his voice bubbling to the surface.</p><p>“I just wanted to get your attention,” Heresy explained calmly, holstering her pistol and sheathing their father’s sword. She held both hands easily in front of her, open, with her palms visible, “we need to talk. Just come down from there”</p><p>“Why should I? We haven’t spoken civilliy in years, Harry,” the Wanted Man argued, watching her with a snarl on his lips. He could tell just how nervous having the muzzle of his rifle pointed at him made his sister, and his curse encouraged him to keep it trained right on her throat, “you gonna throw me down another elevator shaft?”</p><p>“I know you don’t have any reason to want to talk to me, just… at least come down from there. Wouldn’t you rather have a level playing field?” Heresy did make sense, so the Wanted Man cautiously edged his way easily down the wall, hesitantly placing his feet on the marble floor of the dance hall. </p><p>“Are we really going to talk from 50 yards like gunslingers?” She was goading him now, and he fell for it. </p><p>His adoration of his older sister tricked him into letting his guard down and stepping away from the walls which guarded his back.</p><p>He felt the prickle of magic behind him- something he’d never experienced until now- and whipped around to see Sierra standing there with a tiny, waif like girl that he quickly identified as a witch in her embrace. He’d never been able to identify witches right off the bat like other mages could, and the Wanted Man froze momentarily from confusion.</p><p>“You. Fucking. Traitor!” He screamed, causing his best friend to flinch, letting go of the witch. The hand which rested on the forestock of his Browning brought the gun around in a swinging arch motion, causing it to make contact with Sierra’s temple. </p><p>A crack echoed around the room, and the teleporter crumpled, blood already flowing out of the broken skin. Heresy called out for her as Sierra hit the floor, and it only served to make the Wanted Man angier. The heft of the rifle left the Wanted Man panting, his blue eyes wild and filled with fury. He watched Sierra curl into a ball, seemingly uncaring about how he’d just wounded his best friend.</p><p>“Sarcophaga, go for it!” </p><p>He’d forgotten about the witch. He’d never seen her before, but he’d heard the rumours. A Curse Eater, one of the few left. The Wanted Man wheeled to face her, jumping in fear as he realised that her eyes were a damaged, milky white colour, which contrasted with her dark, sallow skin. She was very <i>very</i> blind, yet somehow she was heading directly for him, so the Wanted Man turned to run, hoping he could at least try to outrun her.</p><p>As her massive teeth made contact with his right shoulder, he screamed pure bloody murder and sank to his knees. Somehow, her magic had overpowered his liquid kevlar suit, and her teeth had punctured the expensive armoured clothing he’d purchased for extra protection. The liquid Kevlar had receded back into the scar-like sigils on his sternum, and the shoulder of his jacket and shirt were ripped to shreds. </p><p>Sarcophaga’s mouth slid away from his skin with a wet pop, and the Wanted Man groaned as he tried to push himself to his feet from his hands and knees. Where was his curse, yelling at him to get up faster, and tear her head off? Why wasn’t he angry anymore? He managed to stagger to his feet, rifle still miraculously in hand, vision clouding as blood momentarily spurted from the wound. </p><p>“Must’ve knicked something, eh?” The Wanted Man grumbled, smirking at the witch. She was staring at him as best as a blind witch could, before he was gone from the room in a flash of dull, silvery light.</p><p> </p><p>	Heresy Silvertongue had spent 2 years planning this. As soon as she’d been alerted by her contacts at Steam Creek Penitentiary that the Wanted Man- her troubled baby brother- would be due for release and probation 2 years ago, she started thinking about how she would go about breaking his curse once he was out. The very same one she was at least partially responsible for.</p><p>	That was 2 years of 652 she’d spent trying to make things right. 626 of those years they’d spent quarreling because of his curse. Another 159 where he’d been locked up so tightly that even she couldn’t get to him. </p><p>	In two years since Heresy had fully committed to this task, her fiance had been killed (by her), her best friend had been turned back into a human (he was turned into a statue 600 years ago), and her other best friend was a blind cannibal, who also happened to be the last of an ancient race of witch known as a Curse Eater. Life ain’t easy for a girl named Heresy. </p><p>To some, it seemed pointless to have gone through all that suffering and strife for a brother who clearly wanted nothing to do with her, but what’s the point of immortality if you couldn’t spend your limitless years fixing your mistakes?</p><p>Though with quite a bit of reluctance, she’d roped her brother’s friend Sierra into her plan. Funnily enough, the Samoan teleporter had come to her- an odd sight to see, for several reasons. The biggest being that the two women were on two very different sides of the law. They were both law breakers, except one had the legal standing to do it whenever they pleased, and that one was not Sierra.</p><p>Heresy had wrestled with the idea of bringing one of the people responsible for her baby brother’s spiral into criminality onto the task force prepared to save him. In her own way, Sierra had begged Heresy to step in to save her friend. She hadn’t yet been informed of Heresy’s plotting, but she had seemed relieved to join in on the squad being deployed to stop Heracles’ descent into destruction, even if it meant doing snitching in return for the postponement of her immediate arrest. </p><p>The plan was simple- distract Heracles long enough so that Sierra could teleport Sarcophaga in behind him, where the Curse Eater would jump him, and then eat his curse. Of course, no plan of Heresy’s could ever go exactly as it was written, and very clearly it had not this evening. </p><p>The fight between her brother and Sierra wasn’t supposed to have happened. Heracles wasn’t even supposed to see where the witch had come from. He wasn’t supposed to have killed any of her troops, and he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to beat his supposed best friend with his rifle. She had expected resistance of course, just not quite like that. Sierra's blood on her hands was also not in the plan, either.</p><p>And she really wasn’t expecting her brother to just up and disappear almost immediately after Sarcophaga had made a light snack out of Heracles’ centuries long burden.</p><p>“I can’t smell his magic anymore. Did he escape already?” asked the little blind witch. Heracles Silvertongue’s blood dripped down her chin, entirely unaware of the tense situation Heresy now faced.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <i>To the centre in the city of the night, waiting for you</i>
</p><p> </p><p>To Kevinanabanana, thank you for making me love Joy Division.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Witch Mother</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which the author- and Heracles- dabble with cosmic beings</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Wanted Man did not know where he was. He did know that his shoulder hurt though, and when he looked at the gaping wound where he’d had a chunk torn out, his mind was quiet. Ordinarily, his curse would be screaming in a rage, goading him to fire at will and break more than a few of his enemy’s bones. His curse plagued him no more. Where he would have felt pure anger just a few minutes ago, the Wanted Man’s mind was almost startlingly quiet. He could feel the blood seeping down his back from the wound on his shoulder, so he numbly activated half the sigils of his liquid kevlar suit. It came up to the base of his skull, closing tightly over the wound to prevent him from bleeding out.</p><p>He was also not confronting his sister and her friends inside a party anymore. The last thing he remembered before coming around in this apocalyptic wasteland was Heresy commanding his best friend to distract him while the tiny blind witch under Heresy’s watch had sunk her teeth into his shoulder. Cursed or not, the Wanted Man was deeply hurt by Sierra’s betrayal. Hurt was the keyword, he thought. He certainly wasn’t angry, at least not anymore.</p><p>Moments ago, he had just been bitten by a Curse Eater- the tiny blind witch- and his mind was still quiet, except for a distant voice calling to him. It was not the voice of his curse, however. With a bit of confusion, he glanced around him, thinking perhaps in all this rubble someone may be attempting to reach out to him. The Wanted Man nervously clutched his powerful rifle to his chest, like a child holding their stuffed animal after a nightmare. Nervous was the keyword there, he thought. He didn’t actually know what it was like to feel nervous himself.</p><p>A distant breeze alerted him of two things- the sea was just up wind of him, and something very old was headed his direction. Like any good child of a pirate would do, he began to shuffle towards the source of the scent, hopeful that if anything, he would find someone who he could seek directions from. </p><p>“Wanted Man, I want you,” chimed the new voice, causing the Wanted Man to grumble, rubbing his ears. Although it wasn’t an unpleasant noise, it still reverberated through his mind, which made him groan and shake his head. Yet still with his Browning in his hands, the Wanted Man trudged on, kicking debris to the side as he went.  </p><p>	“I know you, Heracles Silvertongue,” boomed the voice, which was closer now, ringing in his head like the Angelus bells over the River Liffey. The Wanted Man brought both hands over his ears- an action which caused him to drop his Browning to the ground, sinking to his knees as his taken name rang around inside his head. The Wanted Man’s mouth hung open, eyes rolling back in his head while he writhed into a ball face first, and trembling in a way almost akin to a seizure. </p><p>	“I also know you, Garrett Pearse,” boomed the voice from just around the corner, ringing in his head like the Angelus bells over the River Liffey. The Wanted Man’s fingernails dug past his hair and into the skin of his scalp- an action which caused him to scream like a banshee from both the self inflicted pain and the voice which was so loud it was deafening him slowly as his given name rang around inside his head, “And I know the name which no others know either, Theopallas” </p><p>	If he had been coherent- which he wasn’t- the Wanted Man would have rejoiced at finally learning his true name. If he had still been tormented by his curse, it would have cackled at the power the two of them were about to tap into. All of the bones they could break with that power. All of the lives they could take with that power. But instead, he squirmed like a trapped fish out of water, gasping for relief from the pressure in his head. A dark shadow cast over the street he lay in, and even he would have been scared of the being which had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It dripped with sea water, splattering the pavement around the Wanted Man with warm, salty water.</p><p>	“Do not despair. I only seek your services, tiny one,” the voice explained, and had he been able to look up, the Wanted Man would have seen the tentacled mass looming stories above him, gazing down at the suffering man with piqued curiosity on it’s menacing face, “In your long life, you have gained quite the reputation in this mortal world and the next”</p><p>	Rapidly did the tentacled mass’ form change, from it’s horrifying Cthulhu-esque appearance to one which was easier on the eyes. A giantess hovered above the Wanted Man’s curled form, her skin clear like she was cut out of glass.</p><p>	“I’m sorry for the agony I’ve caused you. I don’t make a habit of talking to humans anymore, and thus I’m unfamiliar with what does and does not bring them discomfort,” this time, she did not speak directly into his mind. Her voice was smooth and elegant, like she was a well off diplomat too pedantic for their own good. Below her, the Wanted Man dripped with sweat, still gripping the sides and his head and drawing crescents of blood under his nails. </p><p>Ragged breath after ragged breath, his darling blue eyes stared wildly out at nothing, clearly conveying his terror at the situation. The Wanted Man had yet to acknowledge her presence. Not because he didn’t want to- curse or no curse, he really liked to confront people- but because he couldn’t bring himself to. His services included killing people, and without his curse, he wasn’t sure he would be good enough for one of the most basic human instincts.</p><p>“That’s not something you should worry about,” said the clear woman with a smile, placing her glasslike hand on his shoulder in a reassuring manner. He turned his head further away from her, whimpering at her touch. Although she wasn’t speaking in his mind, he could clearly tell that she was still poking around inside.</p><p>“Knock it off,” the Wanted Man ground out around clenched teeth, shielding his face from her.</p><p>“As you wish. My apologies,” she replied, nodding sagely. He instantly felt the fog of her presence in his mind lift, and he gasped dramatically in relief, quickly rolling onto his back and dropping his hands protectively to his chest. The Wanted Man’s eyes searched her face for eyes, but found himself getting lost in the glassy edges of her face which blended in with the scenery behind her.<br/>“Who are you?” he asked, breathing shakily when he finally stopped trying to meet her eyes, “I don’t know any mages who can do what you just did”</p><p>“I’m known by many names, like you are,” she explained, sitting on her knees beside him, “and I’m certainly no mage. I’m someone much higher on the magical totem pole than that.”</p><p>The unease that crept over him as it dawned on him who she was nearly triggered another wave of terror, and he instinctively tried to roll away. It explained a lot- the shape shifting, the telepathy and mind reading, teleporting him away- but it still didn’t explain what a witch wanted him for. </p><p>“I’m not just a witch. I’m the Witch Mother,” she explained, holding up one see-through palm, an action which froze the Wanted Man stiffly on his back, “I am the one that every witch and warlock can tie their heritage back to. And I need your help”</p><p>He laughed, a choking, pained sound. It made the Witch Mother cock her head, frowning at him with dissatisfaction.</p><p>“I’m not in your head anymore, so tell me- what is it that makes you laugh, Wanted Man?” she asked, her voice flat but curious.</p><p>“I don’t know what you want me to do, but I can’t imagine I’m going to be useful to you without my curse,” He replied through ragged breaths. He was still laying on his back in the dirty street, staring up at the stormy sky.</p><p>“You misunderstand what I’m asking of you. It’s not specifically like any of the jobs you’ve done before,” she shook her head, “I’m not hiring you to kill any one person”</p><p>“Oh so it’s a mass murder type of thing? Great, yeah, I don’t think I can do that either,” he grumbled, daring to look back at her clear, crystalline form.</p><p>“It’s not that either,” she giggled, brushing locks of dark blonde hair from his pained face, “I want you to protect the Curse Eater”</p><p>He paused, his face twisting up as he stared skywards. Then he turned to the Witch Mother and glared.</p><p>“Críost, are you fucking kidding me?” swore the Wanted Man, his Irish accent thick as he argued with her, “She just made a meal out of my shoulder!”</p><p>“This is true,” the Witch Mother sighed, “but your sister can’t protect her forever, you know. No matter how much strength your family's viking magic has given her. Physically she will always be strong, yes, but spiritually… I’m not so sure how long she can keep this up”</p><p>The mention of Heresy made him clam up. He lay perfectly still on the pavement, staring into the grey sky, purposely avoiding looking at the Witch Mother. Without his curse to tell him what a piece of work his sister was, the Wanted Man held conflicting ideas about how he should continue with their relationship.</p><p>“You don’t know what to do, do you?” There it was again, the fog of her presence in his head again. </p><p>“For the first time in my life I’m thinking on my own instead of having a curse yell at me like I’m a damn schizophrenic. Of course I don’t know what to do,” the Wanted Man sighed, closing his eyes, “and get the hell out of my head!”</p><p>She nodded in response, holding her hands up innocently. The Witch Mother’s form began to solidify, the glasslike structures of her body filling in with smooth, dark pigment. </p><p>“Why me?” the Wanted Man’s eyes fluttered back open, only for him to lose his train of thought when he was aware of the now very visible, and very naked, witch bending over him.</p><p>“Why not? You come from a long line of mercenaries and protectors of those who need it. You know what it’s like to seek protection from others, and you have the skill set required of the best bodyguards,” she explained, sitting cross-legged next to him. The Wanted Man decided it would be best for both of them if he just continued to stare at the sky.</p><p>“Is that why you gave me my true name?” he asked, watching the grey clouds begin to part.</p><p>“Yes, but not entirely,” the Witch Mother confessed, “I thought you might trust me more if I gave you something that you truly sought”</p><p>“So now you can just order me around to do your dirty work?” he sighed, willing himself to look her in the eyes, and only at her eyes. She was silent for a moment, searching his face with eyes that looked like pure golden stardust floating in the black sclera, iris, and pupil.</p><p>“I wouldn’t ever think of doing that. In fact,” she placed a smooth hand on his chest, which glowed with some foreign magic. Immediately, a searing pain shot through the Wanted Man, piercing through his liquid Kevlar protection and searing into his heart. He writhed through the pain, clawing at her hand and trying to push her away. </p><p>“What the hell was that for?!” he screamed, patting his chest frantically as she withdrew. He was expecting blood, maybe his ribs to be broken, terrific gashes carved across his chest. But as the Witch Mother pulled her hands away, there was nothing but the steadying rise and fall of his chest.</p><p>“I sealed your true name. Now, nobody but you can tap into its power,” she explained with a soft smile, brushing his cheek before resting her hands on her crossed legs. The Wanted Man rolled his eyes, deciding that maybe it was time to sit up.</p><p>“So what now?” he asked, still keeping his eyes off of her, intimidated by her archaic beauty.</p><p>“Funny you should ask, Wanted Man.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, I honestly forgot how long this chapter was :|</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. My Silver Lining</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>Something good comes with the bad, a song's never just sad. There's hope, there's a silver lining</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Heracles has an apology to make.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He felt the prickle of magic in the air behind him first- something he was still getting used to feeling- and then heard boots on his hardwood floor. The Wanted Man crushed his cigarette on the window sill, swinging one leg back into his apartment so he could straddle the sill and still face off with whoever had just entered.</p><p>	Standing across the room from him was Sierra, his best friend and confidant. Could he even call her that, after what Heresy had her lead her into? Could he even call what Heresy did leading?<br/>

For now, he would, until she gave him reason otherwise. But his new magic had told him two days ago that she most likely wasn’t working with Heresy so closely anymore. Yet she was just as volatile as he was, so he knew better than to let his guard down completely, their relationship notwithstanding. At least her temple looked like it had been healed very well.</p><p>	Neither of them said anything. He sat there with one hand on the open window above him, the other occupied with a smashed cigarette butt. Sierra stood with her fists clenched, twisting the sharpened rings on her fingers with agitation. </p><p>	“Hi,” she said slowly, carefully, choosing her words like her life depended on it. </p><p>	“Hi,” the Wanted Man replied as neither of them moved. He looked away, out the window, and then back, only to find that Sierra had teleported herself closer to him instead of just walking across the room. Despite her dark sunglasses, the worry lines were still deep and apparent on her brown face. It made him feel uneasy to see her like this, and he regretted putting out his cigarette.</p><p>	He had stood 6’3” the entire time he knew Sierra, which was the same height as his sister, and just a little shorter than both of his older brothers. But Sierra had always been nearly a full head taller than him. It made their “partners in crime” relationship quite comical, and she could be more intimidating than his reputation would ever be given her size and strength. Fighting by her side made him feel more powerful than his curse ever had, as if he could topple whole civilisations in the blink of an eye. Except while his big, tough best friend stood before him here and now, it made him feel anxious, small, and unsure.</p><p>	“I’m sorry,” she stammered first, and the tone of her voice scaring him just a little. Admittedly, he was taken aback. He didn’t ever think that he would hear her saying sorry to anyone for that matter, and especially not to him.</p><p>	“You shouldn’t be,” the Wanted Man sighed, shaking his head. Sierra made a small, startled noise, like she had been expecting him to wildly lash out at her. It wouldn’t have been the first time they had fought, afterall. She had fought tougher men, but she really couldn’t remember when. </p><p>	“What?” she asked, squinting at him through her sunglasses. Admittedly, she was still terrified of the man sitting in front of her. Where was her silent, moody, and deadly friend? Who was this quiet and forgiving man sitting here?</p><p>	“You heard me,” the Wanted Man replied with a deep sigh as he rolled his eyes, “I would have done the same thing if it meant helping you. I just want to know why you did it now, after so many years?”</p><p>	“It hasn’t been all that many years…” Sierra mumbled offhandedly, staring down at her boots, kicking them against the floor.</p><p>	“Sierra,” the Wanted Man said abruptly, which made her snap up to look at him, “I’m 652, and you’ve known me since I was 26. It’s been a really long time.”</p><p>	There was a pause between the two friends, the Wanted Man with his eyes glued to the teleporter, and Sierra looking everywhere except at him. </p><p>	“For the same reason Heresy did it,” Sierra replied finally, rubbing her elbow with the opposite hand, “Except, I saw first hand the road you were headed down after you got out of Steam Creek, and I didn’t like what I saw. I love you like I love my baby sisters, and I knew that if something happened to you and I could have helped before it happened, but didn’t… I don’t think I could live with myself, Hera”</p><p>	The Wanted Man remained quiet, choosing to ignore the nickname that would have made him unreasonably angry not too long ago. So Sierra chose to fill the void of conversation by rambling on.</p><p>	“And then you disappeared after Sarcophaga ate your curse, and Heresy and I were stuck fighting over the Witch Mother fucking things up once she had a healer fix my head. She thought I’d teleported you somewhere to keep you from her, and I thought she’d let the little witch whisk you off back to custody, and she arrested me for throwing a punch at her” the Wanted Man looked at her with a surprised expression that she didn’t seem to notice as she continued to ramble.</p><p>	“But then you came back a few days ago, and Heresy wouldn’t let me see you so I could apologise for what I’d let happen and…” Sierra’s lip trembled, tears dribbling out from under her glasses.</p><p>	Three weeks ago, he would have playfully and wordlessly shoved her, grinning and silently scolding her for being so sappy. Instead he stood up, stretched, and hugged her meaningfully for the first time in their centuries long friendship. The Amazonian teleporter sighed, hiccuping as the tears started flowing, and she wrapped her arms tightly around the Wanted Man.</p><p>	“Thank you for loving me,” he mumbled from where he was crushed against his buxom friend, “and I’m so sorry for trying to break your skull open”</p><p>“‘S fine, I’m not mad at you for that,” Sierra protectively placed her head on his, flattening the wild swoops of his dark blonde hair with her hands. She shuddered, rubbing a hand down his back, breathing deeply and calming herself down.</p><p>	They stood there quietly, Sierra hugging the Wanted Man while he rocked gently against her. She had a lot more questions but she just sighed, wiping her face free of tears. He contemplated telling her about the task he’d been given by the Witch Mother, but instead, he bowed his head and continued to hug her tightly. They could talk about all of that later, and once they talked about it they could get through it. Together.</p><p>	“Who are you, and what did you do with my friend?” Sierra asked with an uneasy chuckle, “This is the nicest you’ve ever been to me, and the most amount of words I’ve ever heard you speak in like, ever”</p><p>	“I…” It was the Wanted Man’s turn to be wordless, and he thoughtfully looked up, “I don’t know if you realise how much different my curse made me. I was 3 years old when Hesmacena cursed me. I’m 652 now, and I have so much to learn about myself.”</p><p>	Heracles took a deep breath. The years had not been easy, on him or anyone else for that matter, and he wondered briefly just how much he had to learn about himself.</p><p>“And on top of that, I don’t even know what learning my true name has done to me either. There’s just so many things about myself that I can’t explain right now”</p><p>	The two friends were silent for several moments, Sierra hugging Heracles like he would disappear if she let go of him. Hercales’ hands rested on her back, his head on her chest.</p><p>	“Should I still call you Heracles, or do you want me to start calling you Theophallus?” Sierra asked with a smile, letting him out of her hug. The Wanted Man smirked back, but shook his head.</p><p>	“It’s actually Theopallas- I’m gifted with <i>wisdom</i>, not gifted with dicks,” he sneered, though his eyes grinned with a playfulness that Sierra recognised from their innumerable years together.</p><p>“Well…”</p><p>“Don’t finish that sentence,” The Wanted Man held up his hand to stop her, and sighed. He held Sierra’s hand in his, carefully considering how to proceed.</p><p>“I know the Witch Mother sealed my true name so no one can use it to control me, but I’m not sure I’m ready for people to call me by it yet,” he shook his head again, absentmindedly chewing on his lower lip, “so yeah, just keep calling me Heracles”</p><p>“Thank god for that, I’ve never been able to pronounce ancient Greek names anyways,” Sierra scoffed, wiping her face.</p><p>“You <i>do</i> realise my name is literally one of the most famous ancient Greek names, right?” he asked, squinting deeply at her, putting his hands on her comparatively larger shoulders.</p><p>“I thought it was Latin,” Sierra asked, squinting back at him through her sunglasses, placing her hands on his comparatively smaller waist.</p><p>“<i>Hercules</i> is Latin,” He corrected her, “And we’ve been over how that’s <i>not</i> my name several times”</p><p>“Learn something new everyday, I guess,” Sierra shrugged, “speaking of, where are we headed?”</p><p>The Wanted Man hummed for a minute, thinking of his options, drumming his fingers on Sierra’s shoulders in thought. With her teleporter magic, they could be anywhere in the world either of them had ever been. </p><p>“After the week we’ve had? Let’s go to the beach. Maybe Rio, or Miami?” The Wanted Man smiled widely, and Sierra couldn’t help but think it was the best smile she’d ever seen.</p><p>“Sounds like a plan to me,” And before any more was said to the teleporter, the Wanted Man and his best friend disappeared from his apartment, gone in the same amount of time it took a breeze to gently flow in through the open window.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <i>I try not to hold on to what is gone, I try to do right what is wrong. I try to keep on keeping on. Yeah, I just keep on keeping on</i>
</p><p> </p><p>End.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hate repeating this, but please bear with me as I post finished chapters first, and THEN everything in between. Thanks for bearing with me!<br/>As always, my tumbs is literal-cask-of-amotillado.tumblr.com<br/>18/8/2020</p></blockquote></div></div>
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